


No Scrubs

by neocitybynight



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, F/M, Fyp, Light Angst, Shameless Smut, imagine grey's anatomy and that's pretty much it, it's literally just a rivals to lovers hate sex drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitybynight/pseuds/neocitybynight
Summary: Your rivalry with fellow cardiothoracic attending Dr. Kim comes to a head. Literally.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Reader
Kudos: 20





	No Scrubs

Doyoung’s cheeks are flushed, his normally neat hair rumpled as he backs you against the wall of the on-call room. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growls, poking a finger into your chest. “You waltz in with basically no credentials, take my top interns, and now you authorize an experimental cardiomyoplasty without my consent. What makes you think I won’t report you to the chief and have your license revoked?”

“Down boy,” you smirk. “Last time I checked, we’re both cardiothoracic attendings. Know what that means?”

“It means you’re a royal pain in my ass and I don’t want you anywhere near my OR.”

“Wrong,” you say. “Means _you_ need to heel. You’re not the only one with the authorization to slice and dice hearts in this place.”

Doyoung grits his teeth, pressing even closer. You can smell the antiseptic scent of the hospital on him, along with something sweet and citrusy, completely at odds with the tension zinging between your bodies like lightning. Against your better judgement, your eyes drop to the strip of throat bared by his scrub top, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. 

_Would his skin taste the same? Like lemon zest and orange blossoms, bruising so prettily underneath your lips-_

You really hate Doyoung sometimes, not only because he’s a cold fish surgeon with ten types of sticks up his ass, but also because of the way he can absolutely destroy you in situations like this. You shouldn’t be wondering how he would look on the on-call room bed, fucked out and moaning, as he glares at you, but there’s a part of you, maybe tied to the part that likes sleepless nights and black coffee and cutting people open, that always feels this way in his presence. That takes an almost savage pleasure in antagonizing him and watching blood rushing angrily into his pale cheeks, painting his high cheekbones the prettiest scarlet.

“I really don’t like you sometimes,” he breathes, even as his eyes flick to your lips, as the heat of proximity and anger radiates between your bodies, separated only by thin scrubs and a lab coat.

“Ah ah...” you press a finger to his lips. Doyoung’s eyes go wide. “That’s _I really don’t like you sometimes, **doctor**_. And I think we both know you’re full of shit.”

“Am I?”

“Please, I didn’t spend the last decade studying hearts for nothing. Your pulse is through the roof.”

“Anger does that to a person.”

“And that’s not a scalpel in your pants.”

You whip your hand up, squeezing his cock, which is, as you suspected, already at half-mast in his light blue scrubs. “Ah, what’s this? I thought you hated me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly.”

Tangling a hand into his dark hair, you pull him forward, smashing your lips together. Doyoung stiffens for just a moment, body teetering on the edge of lust and anger, but then he groans, deep in his throat, and then his hands are on your waist, squeezing, hard, as his hips press into yours, really and truly trapping you against the wall.

“I...hate...you,” Doyoung rasps between kisses, entire body shivering as you grind against him. His teeth dig into your bottom lip, the little burst of pain eliciting a savage sort of pleasure as you kiss ravenously. It’s like all the anger, all the pent-up tension and attraction simmering just below the surface is coming out. It’s like the umbrage of your rivalry is manifesting in rough hands, kisses that are more teeth and tongue than anything else.

“Right back at you,” you say, letting out a little gasp as he lurches towards the on-call bed, practically throwing you onto the stiff mattress. Stripping off his lab coat, he crawls over you, one hand fisted into the pillow next to your head, the other kneading your thigh as he steals another burning kiss from you. His lips trail over your cheek, down the column of your neck, where he finds a spot he likes particularly and bites down.

“Fuck,” you breathe, threading a hand through his hair as he continues to lick, kiss, bite, lave your sensitive skin with his tongue until you’re breathing hard, head tilted to the ceiling, shivers of pain and pleasure dancing up your spine in equal measure.

Doyoung’s fingers tangle in the hem of your scrub top, and you sit up long enough to let him push it up and off. His eyes widen as he takes in your bra - blue, lacy, completely inappropriate for a hospital setting, but you need _something_ to get you through your day, and sexy lingerie collection is a bit of a hobby for you.

“See something you like, Doyoung-ah?”

“Call me Dr. Kim.”

“Make me.”

With an angry huff, he reaches behind you, flicking open the clasp and tossing your bra to one side. Dropping his head, he captures a nipple, sucking a little, rolling the sensitive skin between his teeth in a way that sends wetness gushing between your legs, making you moan against your better judgement. 

A fact that Doyoung quickly finds out as he tugs down your pants, fingers darting between the equally inappropriate lace of your panties. “You know,” he breathes, voice muffled by the soft skin of your other breast as he switches sides, fingers just ghosting over where you need him the most. “For someone who hates me so much, you’re soaking.”

“Maybe that’s _why_ I’m so wet,” you whisper, taking his earlobe between your teeth and biting down. 

Doyoung jumps, letting out a sound that’s half moan, half growl, as he finally presses two fingers into you. A sigh leaves your throat as he begins to pleasure you, long fingers nimble in only the way hours working in the skills lab can make them, crooking in just the right way that makes you see stars, hips bowing up into his touch.

As he adds another finger, beckoning in a come-hither motion that presses right into your g-spot, you almost forget how thin the walls are, letting out a moan that everyone outside can definitely hear. “Shh,” Doyoung hisses, fingers speeding up to a fever pitch even as he glares at you. “Do you want everyone at the nurse’s station to hear you?”

“Worse for you,” you say, words cocky but voice breathy. “What would they all say if they knew how dirty you are, Kim? How you get off on fighting with your attending partner? How you’re knuckles deep in me, fully clothed in a damn on-call room?”

Doyoung growls, fingers working, if possible, even faster, as his thumb presses into your clit, and then it’s over, the world going white as pleasure explodes through you, blazing hot and tipped with delicious barbs of anger, prickling through your veins like blood.

He doesn’t let up, stroking you through it before removing his fingers suddenly. Opening your eyes, you have just enough time to see him sit up, ripping off his scrubs, pulling a condom from seemingly nowhere before he’s spreading your legs, pushing into you with a groan. A pleasured cry rips from your throat as he begins to thrust, practically slamming into you, the lewd sound of skin on skin, Doyoung’s soft grunts filling the cramped on-call room as he fills you, again and again, stretching you in a way that edges on pain but not quite, pleasure swirling in your stomach, building up to your peak once more.

“Who’s being loud now?” you say, eyes flying open as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder so he can thrust even deeper, long, languid strokes you can almost feel in your cervix.

Doyoung just grunts, hissing a little as you pull him to your lips again, kisses now with a frantic edge as he increases his pace. A particularly deep stroke has you keening, a scream lost against his lips, fingernails raking down his sweat-slicked back in a way that makes him shiver, hips pistoning into you even faster, leaving red trails that he’ll surely feel for days after your tryst.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, face pressing into the crook of your neck.

“I hate you.”

“Say it again.” His thrusts get sloppier, less rhythmic, his heart pumping in overdrive. 

“I hate you.”

With one last thrust, he’s coming, a full-body orgasm that has his cock twitching, his entire body trembling, fingers pinching your clit, and then you’re gone too, pleasure rocketing through your body, sizzling across your skin, a welcome heat that envelopes you like a wildfire, a tidal wave of magma and pleasure and anger that consumes you entirely.

When you open your eyes, you find Doyoung rolled over onto his side, dark head propped up on one elbow, watching you with an uncharacteristically soft expression. It’s equal parts admiration and annoyance, mixed with something darker and deeper you know he’ll never say, not even balls deep and moaning inside you, touch searing your body like you’re the sun and he’s a helpless planet, trapped in your orbit and hating every moment of it. That’s just not the way you work.

“Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system,” you whisper. “Are you ready to admit that my solution to the cardiomyopathy was better?”

“A porcine muscular transplant, instead of a human one?” he says, finger stroking across the bare skin of your thigh. “Why?”

“Because the patient is already so weak, I’m afraid his body wouldn’t be able to handle the trauma or loss of abdominal or posterior tissue.”

“Hm,” Doyoung says, but by his tone you know he’s thinking. “That could work, I suppose. Pull up a few more clinical trial records and I might consider it.”

You let out a laugh. “Well, that was easy. I should’ve known this was the key to breaking you.”

“Who says you broke me?”

You twist, slipping a hand down to grasp his cock. Against his better judgement, he bucks up into your palm. “You really have to ask?”

Doyoung groans. “This changes nothing. Physical attraction is a simple biological reaction. I still think you’re a willful, reckless surgeon who’s going to kill someone one day.”

“Well, better hope that person’s not you,” you say sweetly, keeping a tight grip on his cock as you clamber up, straddling him, watching his face twist in pleasure, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “I am trained in the art of cutting men’s hearts out, after all.”


End file.
